Monday, November 24, 2008
While it pains me greatly to admit, I have to state publicly that I was wrong. The reemergence of late 90's androgynous teen heart throbs (although one of them was like 30 at the time...) is not the worst thing to happen. Much more dire than this proof that the sun should just burn out and kill the world that allows songs like "Mmmbop" (lyrics included, if you hate yourself that much...) to become hits is the fact that I am terminally ill.
Ok, so I have a cold and there's nothing terminal about it, but you can't argue that it isn't deffinetly a minor inconvenience. You could, I suppose, if I wanted to do the whole Devil's advocate thing, but for all intensive purposes, if you don't agree you're a cunt. I suspected something wicked afoot Saturday morning when I sneezed a record bajillion times in a row, yet I chose to go to work anyway.
My carelessness has come back to bite me in the ass it seems as my snot faucet will not cease. What's worse is I haven't had the resources to initiate my cure for the common cold, which is to consume an entire box of cold pills and a carton of orange juice in a smaller than recommended window of time. Bonus points if you use the cold pills that make you 'trip' (Cloricedens?) Instead of been trying to extract the healing powers of Ramen noodles and only being able to find four cold pills, suffering justly. Pseudoephedrine, Nonbenzodiazepine, Vitamin C, and a bit of ethanol are crossing blades in a gladiatorial death match throughout my body against this pugnacious pest of a cold.
Now to let nature take its course... (irony intended)
Blame Hans Strongo